


bet you wanna rip my heart out

by selenedaydreams



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Italian National Team, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 19:09:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14551437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenedaydreams/pseuds/selenedaydreams
Summary: Baby steps, Gigi tells him every time he brings it up. Baby steps. Claudio will come around eventually. There’s an unspoken ‘you did this to yourself’ that never fails to follow.





	bet you wanna rip my heart out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rubiconjane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubiconjane/gifts).



> **dear recipient:** this....isn't exactly what i had in mind when i first started writing this or when i proposed it but. i think it still follows the essence of what i had in mind just with more angst and introspection and cameos. i hope that you enjoy it ❤︎
> 
> title from _lorde's_ hard feelings/loveless

A win against France is the confidence boost they so desperately needed but didn’t want to admit to. The fact that it happens as a result of a barely scraped in goal from their wonder boy and as of recently, struggling superstar, Belotti, makes the win even sweeter.

Belotti is crushed by a sea of ecstatic bodies early on in the second half as a million hands descended on him to pat him and slap him before his face is pulled into every direction possible for sloppy cheek and forehead kisses. Leo finds Giorgio’s gaze in the madness of their teammates. At least this is still the same. The immediate understanding, the translation that it’s now their job to carry this win home.

In the moment, it doesn’t occur to Leo that this is one of the last times it will be like this, probably because this is the first time in months when he’s been able to defend with such ease and clarity knowing that Giorgio is right beside him, reading him and understanding him without the need for words. Andrea too since they managed to drag him out of his holiday plans to Bermuda for one final campaign together.

Leo very much doesn’t need Paul crossing the field once the final whistle blows to swing his arm around his shoulders to tease him about how this is only a friendly. But hey, he can poke at fading bruises too. He can remind him about how France barely managed to qualify out of one of the easiest groups. The ‘but we qualified’ that follows is nothing short of expected.

There’s no malice behind Paul’s comments, Leo knows that. It’s just who he is, who he has always been. Still. It doesn’t fail to make this win feel more like a consolation prize than anything else.

 

 

 

The friendly against the Netherlands is a completely different story.

Turin vibrates with a different kind of energy that night, the Allianz, especially. Stepping into the tunnel, Leo has to remind himself which side to stand against after months of back and forth that have ruined his muscle memory.

He finds himself between Claudio and Gigi, staring down the number one on Gigi’s back and trying to memorize every detail. For a moment, he thinks about reaching out, thinks about promising him a fitting swan song but Gigio walks past to draw him into a tight embrace and his focus shifts to him immediately. He squeezes his hip reassuringly before letting him pass to join the rest of their teammates on the bench.

Maybe it’s better that he’s interrupted. Maybe it’s better than he didn’t reach out. He’s made Gigi enough promises in the past that he hasn’t lived up to.

They still haven’t scored by the 70th minute when Giorgio exists the field to the sound of the entire Allianz standing up and cheering for him. It’s difficult not to look up at the zero-zero scoreline so far and not feel a twinge of disappointment.

In the 80th minute just moments after a diving header from none other that Ciro, it’s Gigi’s turn as Gigio fiddles with his gloves and waits on the sidelines for his turn guarding the goal. If at all possible, the Allianz is ever louder than moments ago. A deafening crescendo that captures his attention so completely he doesn’t have a chance to register what is happening until he feels warm fingers on his forearm, slipping the captain’s armband around his bicep.

For a whole ten minutes, he captains Italy into their second consecutive win. Into a new Azzurri era.

 

 

 

Leo knows he shouldn’t ask, or even bring up today’s match, for that matter. Gigi has made his house a football-free zone, for the most part. Not that Leo has ever respected that rule. Not that he hasn’t brought his football baggage into this house almost every single time he’s entered it. But Gigi has always allowed it, so.

“Why did you give it to me and not Claudio?”

Leo watches his hand still for a brief second as he stirs the pasta sauce before it resumes again. “Did you not want it?”

The question is asked so casually and if Leo were anyone else, he might have missed the subtext, the unspoken probing questions. It’s infuriating sometimes, the way Gigi so effortlessly turns things onto him. “You know that’s not what I meant. You know I do.”

When Gigi turns to face him, there’s an unreadable expression on his face. “Then what did you mean?”

There are many things that Leo hates in this world but senseless back and forth tops the list. “Is it me? Has it already been decided? Am I the captain now?”

Because, really, that’s what it boils down to. That’s what Leo has wanted to know since that moment on the pitch hours prior. He knows the facts all too well, has mulled over them since November. He knows that he has more caps than Claudio, that he’s a regular starter for both club and country...that he now has some experience captaining a team. Still, he needs to hear it.

“Yes.”

No. He takes it back. He doesn’t want to hear it.

 

 

 

Leo finds himself on Claudio’s doorsteps a little before three in the afternoon that following Saturday.

It doesn’t matter if he’s late. It’s not as if they’re going to do anything other than empty Claudio’s outrageously expensive beer reserve and bitch about tonight’s World Cup matches.

Still. Claudio is nothing if not obsessed with punctually so he makes the effort to arrive on time.

Claudio opens the door with the same polite, warm smile he’s used to. It’s his host smile, a practiced reflex he’s seen him exercise time and time again when he still lived in Turin, but _Leo_ is nothing if not selfish on occasion so, he’d like to feign ignorance to that fact and pretend that smile is all for him.

Leo hangs up the light jacket he came with and follows Claudio down the marble-floored hallway, the living room coming into full view before him. The coffee table is already set up as a makeshift fancy buffet table with six bottles of beer, one bottle of red wine, and two plates of what looks like cacio e pepe.

Leo licks his lips to hide his smile. Claudio is often known to cook purely on instinct, or based on whatever he has in his expansive pantry. Or maybe time got away from him and this was all he managed to have enough time to make.

“Wine and beer?” Leo asks, pointing to the bottles with his chin, “Are we trying to blackout this World Cup?”

Claudio picks up the remote from its designated place on the end table and turns on the television. The voice of the commentators discussing the matchup between Argentina and Iceland fill the room. “Would anyone blame us?”

Leo can’t help but laugh as he rounds the table and falls into his usual seat in the middle of the soft leather couch. “Paulo, probably. You know he’s expecting us to watch him.”

The lineups flash on the screen as Claudio uncaps two bottles of beer and hands him one. Reading the Argentine list reminds Leo of why he seldom leans into optimism. In his experience, it tends to only leave behind bitter regret.

“Maybe he’ll get subbed on.” Claudio offers, sitting down next to him as the captains meet in the center of the pitch to shake hands.

Leo forces out a half-hearted ‘maybe’ before sinking back into the couch and sipping his beer. Maybe he should leave the optimism to Claudio because he’s always weathered it far better than Leo ever could.

When the referee blows the whistle to signal the beginning of the match, Leo’s attention is drawn away from the game by a warm hand covering his knee. It’s gone before he has a chance to properly register it, replaced by Claudio’s soft voice.

“You should eat before it gets cold.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Leo nods in immediate agreement, picking up his plate and swirling the spaghetti around his fork as Aguero takes aim from halfway across the pitch and narrowly misses the Icelandic net. From the corner of his eye, he catches Claudio shake his head for a fraction of a moment.

“Don’t tell me you actually want Argentina to win?” Leo scoffs.

“Paulo and Pipita would be happy.” Claudio shrugs, gaze fixed on the screen. “Plus, it’s better than Spain winning.”

Leo crosses himself without even thinking about it, giving a choked off mixture of dread and disgust in response. “ _Germany_ winning again is better than Spain winning. With that backline though? They’re not even gonna make it out of groups.”

“They beat us.” Claudio reminds him.

Leo doesn’t hesitate. “They got lucky.”

“Spoken like a true captain.”

Messi chooses that exact moment to scores a stunning freekick and while Claudio is captivated by the replay, Leo replays those five words in his head over and over again until he can decide the intent behind his comment.

 

 

 

They watch the majority of the World Cup together.

Leo spends June in Turin more than Milan, much to no one’s surprise. Claudio doesn’t comment on it, just accepts him into his house day in and day out without so much as a passing comment.

The return to normalcy is a blessing even if it’s a facade. Even if when Leo cheers on André as he fights for Portugal’s survival out of the group stage, he feels Claudio’s eyes on him instead of the match. Even if late at night when he’s lying in Claudio’s guest bedroom he scroll through Instagram to that malicious post about his transfer and finds that it is _still_ liked by Claudio.

Baby steps, Gigi tells him every time he brings it up. Baby steps. Claudio will come around eventually. There’s an unspoken ‘you did this to yourself’ that never fails to follow.

 

 

 

Preseason creeps up on him when he’s not looking and after a one week long training retreat in the Slovenian wilderness, of all place, courtesy of Gattuso chaotic genius, he finds himself in Pasadena ready to face Manchester United.

After rising from the ashes and fighting their way to Europa League qualification last season, winning this international tournament would be the cherry on top.

They don’t, of course, but they make it far up enough on the table to not label this as a complete disaster. Still below Juventus, however.

He only manages to watch then crush Benfica three to zero due to the timing of the matches but the internet is a lovely thing and he catches up on the action on the bus taking them back to their hotel.

Claudio is a regular starter during those four matches, a statement Leo had almost given up believing would ever be true again. His feelings towards Max have softened since last July but the thorns are still there, especially in this instance. Especially when Claudio scores two goals in two matches.

Scrolling through Instagram the next morning, he almost likes his celebratory post.

Almost.

 

 

 

They pick New York City, of all places, to meet.

Leo would have suggested something halfway between California and Maryland but there’s no way in hell they’re doing this in some random motel in Kansas.

He doesn’t even really know what _this_ is. All he remembers is Claudio calling him late into the night after Milan’s match against Tottenham and telling him that they need to talk. Actually properly talk about the national team before they get swept up in the chaos of next season.

Leo also remembers asking him what there is to talk about. Gigi and Giorgio retired. He’s the new captain. _They’re_ co-captains. It doesn’t get any more plain and simple than that.

Claudio is incessant though. He doesn’t beg, he would never, but after years of knowing him, after years spent with him, Leo can pick up the minute shifts in his voice that carry it over from calm to frantic and he is powerless to resist.

 

 

 

Leo is pretty sure that ‘talking’ doesn’t typically involve getting shoved against the back of the wall as warm lips press against his but that’s exactly what happens when he swipes his keycard and slips into Claudio’s hotel room.

It takes a moment for his brain to catch up with his body. For him to lift his hands to Claudio’s waist and instinctively pull him closer. Claudio’s hands are on either side of his face, one slipping to the back of his neck to thumb just behind his ear, making him shiver at the contact and lean into the sudden onslaught of memories.

Leo can’t detect a single trace of alcohol on him because he has to check. He would never deny Claudio anything in this entire world, he never has, but still. He needed to check because if this was an impulse move on behalf of their minibar, Leo wouldn’t slide his hands to Claudio’s thighs and hoist him up so he can wrap his legs around him.

“I thought you said we needed to talk.” Leo manages to get out once Claudio’s lips slide down to his jaw.

There’s a brief pause before Leo feels Claudio’s teeth sink into the junction between his throat and shoulder. “Shut up.”

And god, that really shouldn’t be a turn on but it is. It is. It’s incestive enough for him to squeeze Claudio’s thighs hard enough to bruise just to hear him muffle his whimpers against the soft cotton of his shirt.

As Claudio continues to make a patchwork of his neck, Leo uses that brief moment of clarity to wonder if they’ll ever outgrow this. If it’s just a side effect of his transfer that will eventually go away or if this is what their relationship is like now.

He doesn’t want to think about that though. He never wants to think, in general, during these moments. He would much rather dump Claudio in the middle of the plush bed and climb on with him when he refuses to unwind his legs from around his waist.

It’s Leo’s turn to slide his mouth down to Claudio’s neck and he spares no time marking him up, scraping his teeth just above his collarbone, knowing full well that it will draw a choked off moan from him. Past history used for the present war.

Leo forces Claudio’s thighs apart so he can make quick work of his clothes, throwing them haphazardly over the edge of the bed.

‘Talk. Say what you need to say.” Leo says, hands already working to unbutton Claudio’s shirt.

“Now?”

A shrug follows as Leo yanks off Claudio’s jeans and boxers, allowing them to follow the same fate as his own clothes. “We’ve got time.”

Claudio huffs, reaching out to draw Leo closer once again but to no avail. Leo’s hand pushes down on the center of his chest - hard - to keep him flat against the bed. It’s a scuffle for a moment, a battle of limbs, but eventually, Leo gets him settled one, one of his legs swung over his shoulder as he pushes two fingers into him. “I said talk.” It’s more command than a question, and Leo feels full well how he shivers from it. How he gets off on it.

“We have to work together.”

Leo only dignifies that with a look urging him to continue as he keeps moving his fingers. His movements match his tone - demanding, unrelenting - everything that drives Claudio crazy, _because_ it drives him crazy.

“We can’t fight if we want to revive the national team.”

Leo turns his head to mouth at the inside of his thigh, sucking a particularly harsh mark there. It’s facade, a continuation of the pretense they have been upholding for months on end and Leo has never been good at pretending. He knows that’s not the full truth, he can feel it. “Is that it? Is that why you dragged me all the way here to tell me?”

It’s not as if Leo was holding him particularly tightly, it’s not as if he was retraining him in any way, which makes it exceptionally easy for Claudio to shove at him and push him down until he’s the one on his back. Claudio climbs on at record speed, sinking down onto him and reaching for Leo’s hands to move them to his thighs, urging him to grip them harder, _to draw him closer_. “I’m allowed to still be mad. I’m allowed to never get over it if I don’t want to.” After a moment’s pause. “I’m allowed to miss my fucking best friend.”

This is a common theme in Leo’s life - wanting something so terribly much but not being prepared to deal with the consequences once he has it. It’s what he wanted to hear. It’s what he manhandled and forced Claudio to finally _finally_ admit.

It’s what makes his heart feel impossibly tight in his chest. It’s what makes him pull Claudio down so he can kiss him before he bursts out of his skin.

“I don’t want to fight with you.” Leo eventually wills himself to say as Claudio rolls his hips, unable to stay still. His words draw a hollow laugh from Claudio but he continues. “I’m fucking serious. I want you back.”

Claudio stares at him for a long moment, both hands cupping Leo’s face. “You’ve always had me. Even when I hated you.” Claudio thumbs at his cheekbone. “You’ve always had me.”

Leo is now convinced that Claudio is dead set on murdering him. Or making him cry. Which is worse, he still hasn’t decided. He’s too overwhelmed to speak, too overwhelmed to do anything other than push up into him while Claudio continues moving his hips.

Eventually, Claudio will let him roll them over so that Leo can press him all the way down into the mattress and fuck him properly, allowing Claudio to completely let go and cling to him properly.

 

 

 

It’s past midnight when they climb into the shower on shaking legs, both leaning on each other for support.

Claudio’s hair stands up in all directions and there are already blooming bruises on his neck. And hips. And thighs. Leo assumes the same is true for him as well.

“So, you think we can do it?” Claudio asks, turning the knob every which way to get the water to the perfect temperature.

“If we can captain a team as well as we shit talked the World Cup, I think we could win the next World Cup.”

The gentle pinch to his side coupled with Claudio’s soft, blinding smile is all the reassurance he needs that they will be fine. Eventually.

Maybe not tonight. Maybe not next week. But eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> \- so, while gigi and chiello HAVE technically retired...they did feature in the friendlies earlier this year (well, not chiello because of injury but, he had been called up) but [italy will host the netherlands at the allianz](http://www.espn.com/soccer/italy/story/3394644/italy-to-host-netherlands-in-june-friendly-in-turin)in june which many are predicting will be their swan song azzuri match 
> 
> \- if you thought i was making up claudio being a passive-aggressive little bitch and liking rants of instagram about leo….[ you were so very much wrong](https://www.around-j.com/marchisio-likes-bonucci-rant-instagram/) aaaaand as of yesterday evening the post is still liked by claudio
> 
> -[ ONCE UPON A TIME IN A GALAXY FAR FAR AWAY THEY USED TO BE IN LOVE](http://granit-xhakas.tumblr.com/post/65624072999)
> 
> \- thank you for reading! ❤︎


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